


Sunrise

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Drinking, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, lets see now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick Chilton has a nasty almost one night stand, which leaves him holed up in his house, hating himself. Cue you, dear reader, trying to make right what shouldn't be wrong. Basically really dark in the first chapter, and then loads of fluff and smut in the next two, promise</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Darkness Creeps In

**Author's Note:**

> Gather around, children, and see how I shamelessly mash a bunch of prompts from the amazing drwillton's Tumblr page; (http://drwillton.tumblr.com/) into one fan fiction. Here be loads of Chilton feels, so be warned. This chapter was inspired by two asks; "http://drwillton.tumblr.com/post/93986544656/gonna-mix-it-up-a-bit-here-imagine-someone-finally" and an ask about Chilton having suicidal thoughts that I can sadly no longer find

His mind was not plagued by shadows. Shadows only exist when there is light present. No, Frederick Chilton's mind was consumed by darkness. And not the vibrant blackness that seemed to live in every corner of Hannibal Lecter's being, but a darkness created by the simple fact that Frederick had not a single luminous point in his life. He had no friends, no contact to his family. His employees spent a great deal of their paid time talking about what a snarky, pathetic, pompous asshole he was, the excessively expensive audio surveillance system he had had installed made sure he knew that. For some twisted reason, he had saved all the sound bites which contained their opinions of him in a folder on his laptop.

These slightly ridiculous philosophical musings about light and darkness were what ran through the doctor's mind as he sat alone in his house Tuesday night. It was dark outside, a slight autumn drizzle covering the big windows that adorned two sides of his living room. When he bought the house, the open, airy feel was what drew him to it. Even his front door had glass in it, though tinted, allowing for daylight to spill through, creating beautiful patterns on the ground. Yes, during the day the house came alive with light and the sound of birds singing. Even after the Gideon incident, he felt safe here when every room was brightly lit up by the sun. During the night, however, he could never quite shake the feeling of being watched, either through the windows, or from some dark corner.

Tonight was especially bad. Frederick was sitting in one of his armchairs, starring at the blank TV screen, his legs awkwardly bend under him so that his feet weren't touching the floor. He looked like someone who had just watched an intensely scary movie, and honestly, that was how he felt. He  was too scared to move, almost paralyzed by the fear that Abel might barge through his front door or one of his windows, scalpel in hand. Or maybe Hannibal was out there. With his stupid mystical charm and his stupid perfect suits and his STUPID attractive European accent. Maybe he would turn Frederick into some ridiculous dish with another strange French name. Maybe he would serve it to Alana Bloom. Maybe they would fuck on the table next to his readily-prepared-now-a-dish body pieces. The anger and the injustice that this was his life helped send him out of the chair, across the living room and to the entrance hall, where he grabbed his coat and his keys, before storming out the house and slamming the door after him.

\-----

He ended up in some dingy bar on the side of the road, with no buildings surrounding it. He felt out of place in his suit and with his flashy cane, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Instead he took a seat at the counter, ordering a large scotch, while looking around at his fellow bar attendees. Most of them were male; a group of rough-looking men were standing around the pool table, t-shirts allowing their tattoos to be on display. The rest looked worn out like he did, huddled over their drinks or looking at the small TV on the opposite wall from where Frederick was facing. The sheer number of people surprised him; it was a Tuesday night after all. He was about to make a mental snark comment until he realized that he was here drinking too, so he refrained.

It wasn't until almost an hour later that a woman approached him. Frederick Chilton had never, in all his life, seen someone wear so much make-up. Her skirt was short, and frankly, her shirt, if you could call it that, showed more of her breasts than it covered. She sat down next to him, eyeing him up and down, before reaching for his cane. "You rich?", she asked, letting her hands run up and down the silver and black surface in a blatantly obscene way. Frederick didn't even spare her a glance, simply answering "yes" and taking a big gulp of his third glass of the night. A short pause followed by her "you wanna fuck?", made him spit it out again. This time he did look at her. She was sending him a sultry look that was so obviously faked it was almost laughable.

He was a psychiatrist, for God's sake, with a job that paid more per month than most people made in a year. His socks were probably more expensive than her whole current attire. She had made it abundantly clear that the only reason she wanted to have anything to do with him was because she hoped to gain something from it, in the form of expensive gifts, probably.

Then he remembered you. Your sweet smiles, twinkling eyes and heartfelt laughter. He was so badly in love with you it hurt, and you two had only known each other professionally for a couple of months. You acknowledged him, certainly, but most likely not like anything more than an acquaintance. He didn't deserve you and he could never have you. Frederick found himself paying for the his own and the woman's drinks, before leading her to his car.

\-----

She seemed impressed by the size of his house and its location. Once in the kitchen, he poured her a glass of wine and tried starting a conversation with her, finding that they apparently didn't share a single interest. Ten minutes of almost painful awkward silences later, she put her now empty glass down and placed both arms around his neck before kissing him, using her tongue from the get-go. He felt as if he was getting choked, as she shoved it almost entirely into his mouth, seemingly with no sense of rhythm or actual purpose. He couldn't get away because of the deadlock she had on him, so instead he did the best he could to kiss her back. Eventually she pulled away, and before she could initiate another exchange of saliva, he grabbed her hand and walked towards the bedroom. On the way there, Frederick could feel how her make-up stuck to his face in various places. He felt like gagging.

\-----

The stranger, whose name he still didn't know, wasted no time in taking off her clothes and then getting to work on his, never leaving him time to do anything but lie still. As she reached for his shirt, he stopped her. He had never let anyone see the scar, and he was so scared that other's might find it as hideous as he did. "I... The reason I use the cane is because I was in... an accident". He wasn't going to tell her the gritty details of his ordeal, there was no need. "And that accident left me a rather prominent... scar". He looked at her uncertainly, unsure of what to do next. She just shrugged and went on to remove his pants and underwear, before taking him in her mouth.

The blowjob was even sloppier than the kiss, and he was glad that she didn't expect to fellate him to completion, because he wasn't sure that he would have been able to get off, no matter how touch starved he was. Finally, she moved back up to straddle him, eyeing the shirt again. "I wanna see", she said, starting to unbutton it. "Don't you trust me? How horrible can it be, come on. I had a second cousin who got almost half his face blown off by a shotgun, I still fucked him". As non-erotic as her words were, they helped him calm down slightly. She was right, of course, it was just a scar. A straight vertical line down his stomach. For the first time in months, he didn't feel self conscious and ugly, but a bit more like his old self.

\-----

His happiness soon turned to a bitter taste in his mouth, as he saw her expression when she eyed the slightly raised line. Pure disgust covered her every feature, and she certainly didn't try to hide it. Without another word she got up, got dressed and walked out the front door.

Frederick held it together just long enough to make sure the front door was locked, the alarm on and walk back to bed, before he collapsed in a sobbing heap. He was awful, ugly, disgusting. Revolting to look at, so much that she couldn't even speak to him. The bed smelled like her, HE smelled like her, and her thick make-up still covered his face and other more intimate areas of him. He couldn't get himself to get up and take a shower. He didn't even have enough power of will to move to the couch. He curled in on himself, hugging his legs to his chest and cried, like so many times before. This time was a bit different in the fact that he now had proof that nobody could ever love him or even stand to look at him without his stomach being covered. He wanted to get drunk. Maybe he could even mix a bunch of pills in there and be done with it. Why the hell was he even living anyway. He fell asleep like that, crying, his nostrils filling with her sickly sweet scent every time he breathed in, reminding him of her face when she saw him naked. He would wake up in the morning with a slight cold, since nobody was there to put a blanket over his naked, shivering form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make the whole encounter feel gritty and icky to the reader, to show how Frederick felt about the situation. I hope I didn't mess that up too badly


	2. Chocolate Cupcakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit Frederick three days after his disastrous one-night stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised cuddles ensue, after a bit more angst

You had worked with Frederick Chilton because of your position as an FBI agent and since last month, you had become his primary source of contact in the agency. Whenever he was asked to give a psychological profile on someone, you were the one to bring him the folders and sit with him, going over them. For the last two weeks you had been at his hospital daily, reading report after report about the inmates. The FBI suspected that one of them might be in close contact with an active killer, and Jack Crawford was convinced that the clues to who it could be could be found in the thousands of pages of sometimes handwritten notes that made up the BSHCI archive. As of now, you'd still found nothing useful to the investigation. On the bright side, you got to spend a lot more time with Frederick. You really liked the guy.

He was an absolute ass to you the first day you met, which prompted you to bring him coffee the next; being nice often proved the best defense against that kind of behavior. His mask had immediately cracked, and he had allowed you to see the real him; a self conscious guy who really could be a nosy jerk sometimes, but who genuinely seemed to care about what you had to say and how you felt. He often made you laugh, and you found him to be quite handsome. You had hoped that he would pick up on your subtle hints and ask you out for dinner, but Chilton seemed oblivious to your advances. A few days ago, you had made up your mind that if he didn't make a move soon, you would have to.

\-----

When Frederick didn't show up on Wednesday, you didn't think much of it. He might be taking the day off. When he didn't show up on Thursday either, you started to get concerned. In all the time you had known him (which wasn't all that long, but still), he hadn't missed a day at work, and now he missed two in a row? On Friday, you voiced your concern to his secretary, who told you that she had no idea where he was. He hadn't called in sick or given any indication as to where he might be. Frowning, you dialed his number, only to be directed instantly to voice mail, which meant his mobile was turned off. This changed your concern into full-fledged worry, so you quickly excused yourself before fetching your things and walking briskly to the parking lot. If Frederick wasn't going to answer your calls, you would just have to show up at his house in person.

\-----

On the way there, you had picked up a bag of stuff from the grocery store. If Frederick really was sick, there was no harm in bringing supplies in the form of the cupcakes he had admitted to like, as well as tea and a bunch of other delicious things. You had never been to the house before, but he had given you the address in case of an emergency; not that he would probably classify this as an emergency, but still. Actually, you could clearly picture in your head the smirk you would receive when you explained that you had been worried about him; even in your head, that smirk annoyed you. Leaving the bag in the car for now, you made your way to his front door. If he truly wasn't sick, there was no need to show him just how much thought you had put into this visit, giving him even more to be smug about.

His house was full of big panorama windows which was lovely, but curtains seemed to be covering every single one of them, blocking the interior from view. The size seemed a bit much for someone who lived alone, but knowing his penance for spending big amounts of money where a small amount would suffice, you couldn't say that you were surprised. 

After knocking on his door for the fourth time, you thought about just turning around and going back to work. But from where you stood, you could spot his bright red car, which meant he was home. The thought that something serious might have happened to him hit you, and you were half contemplating kicking the door in when you finally heard shuffling footsteps on the other side, and spotted a blurry figure moving towards you.

The man that opened the door couldn't possibly be the Frederick Chilton you knew. His hair was sticking out to all sides, his eyes were red and puffy and squinting now that he was in direct sunlight. He was slouched over slightly, leaning rather heavily on his cane, and dark circles under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. His body was covered in a black t-shirt that didn't look warm enough for the season, and a pair of grey sweatpants. His feet were bare, and he seemed to be shaking slightly; whether it was from the cold or because of whatever had made him look like this, you couldn't tell.

\-----

When Frederick woke up early Wednesday morning, he had a pounding headache. Groaning, he stretched slightly, which sent a new waft of the woman's scent to his nostrils. This, in turn, had him lurching up and towards the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach.

He had originally contemplated going to work, but he saw no reason to darken everyone else's day with his hideous self. Besides, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the pretense that had become the persona that most of the staff knew him as, so after changing his sheets, pillow casing and duvet and taking a shower so hot it almost burned his skin, Frederick rolled down all the curtains for the first time ever, before he turned off his mobile, computer and iPad, unplugged his phone and went back to bed, curled in on himself. For the next two days, he did nothing but try and fail to sleep, cry, drink water and eat whatever he could find in his cupboards that required no preparation.

He spent a lot of time thinking about you. More specifically, all the things he might have been able to do with you if he was still whole and not broken. Would you have dated him then? Found him desirable? Possibly. He daydreamed of nights spent in each other's arms, you walking around his house in one of his t-shirts and your panties only, eating together at his table. Perhaps, with time, you would even have moved in with him. Maybe then the darkness wouldn't seem so scary.

It was ridiculous, of course. He had only to think back to the other woman's face for a tough reality check, after which he would cry some more and go back to hugging his pillow.

\-----

When someone knocked on his door on Friday, he figured that it was the postman, so he didn't bother getting out of bed. However, the knocking kept on rather persistently and in the end he yielded, grabbing his cane and making his way downstairs.

Being on his third day of almost no sleep, a lot of crying, and a constant headache left him a bit disoriented, which was why it took him a good five seconds to recognize you. At first, he figured that he was probably hallucinating. You had never been to his house, why would you be here now? But as it slowly dawned on him that you were, in fact, standing outside his door, he couldn't stop the sob that escaped his lips. Seeing you was just too much. He fought to hold his tears back as he quickly turned around to close the door. It would be incredibly mean to close it in your face, but what else could he do?

\-----

There was a strange silence as he just looked at you, while you tried to figure out what was wrong with him. He looked so sad, and it hurt you to see him like this. When the sob escaped his lips, you couldn't help yourself. Without thinking, you lurched forward and grabbed him to you, holding him close. What you wasn't prepared for was the horrified squeal that escaped him as he withdrew from your embrace sharply and took two quick steps back. "Please don't touch me", he said, his voice croaky and low. You respected his wishes, of course, but you damn well wouldn't let him walk around alone without you knowing why he wasn't coming to work. What if something happened to him? "Why?", you asked, a bit harder than intended. You felt on edge, your mind racing with all the possible answers he might give and how to best react to them. The answer he gave, however, never occurred to you as a possible one; "Because I am revolting".

\-----

This time, Frederick couldn't hold back the tears and for what felt like the millionth time, he started crying, his body shaking with the sobs. This was so humiliating. Here you were, in his opinion perfect, looking at a broken man crying. Through the hazy fog of tears and hitching breaths, he waited for the sound of the door closing as you left; it didn't take long before it reached his ears.

To his utter bewilderment, he felt you embracing him again; one of your arms fell across his back, hugging him close to you. Your other hand went to the back of his head and pulled it down slowly, so he could rest it on your shoulder.

He should pull away, and he knew it. He just couldn't. This felt too good; nobody had hugged him in years. The feeling of your warm embrace fully opened the floodgates, and he pulled you even closer to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his crying intensified. Without truly meaning to, the words came pouring out of him; "I w-went to the-e b-bar and a w-w-woman...". A loud sob broke his speech before he proceeded; "A woman sh-she c-came home with m-me and I s-sh-showed her m-my scar and a-and she left b-because I a-am d-disgusting an-nd broken".

\-----

It was a bit hard to understand what Frederick was saying, both because the words were muffled by your jacket, but also because his own hitching breaths kept interrupting him. However, you got the general idea of what had went down and hugged him a bit tighter, anger flooding you. What the hell kind of nasty bitch would do something like that?!

You maneuvered the both of you to the couch where you settled and Frederick curled up in your lap, head tugged under your chin, still crying. You sat like that for a long time, rocking him back and forth slightly, carting your hand through his hair and rubbing his back, whispering that she was wrong, she was wrong, he wasn't disgusting or ugly or broken at all. Slowly the sobs subsided and not two minutes after they stopped completely, Frederick was fast asleep in your arms. It took a great deal of maneuvering to get him down on the couch without waking him, but you did succeed, covering him with a duvet and kissing his forehead to give him good dreams.

Almost fifty minutes later, you had gone through his house and collected a bunch of pillows that you placed around Frederick to give him the feeling of being protected as he slept. Afterwards you had gone to get the groceries from your car; the ice cream had melted slightly, but you put it in the freezer and silently thanked thermodynamics for existing. You prepared a can of tea for when he woke up, as well as placing cookies and some of the cupcakes on a plate and grabbing two mugs. You carried all of it into the living room on a tray and placed it on the coffee table, snatching a book about Roman history to read while you waited.

\-----

As the strings of consciousness started to pull at him, Frederick fought  to stay asleep. He felt like he was floating in a lovely warm cloud; safe and happy. However, the sound of pages being turned confused him. Where was he again? Opening his eyes slightly, he spotted you, languidly reading in his armchair. It took a solid minute to remember what had happened to lead to you being here, and when he finally did, he wanted to groan in embarrassment. If your regard for him hadn't been low before, it certainly must be now.

However, the sadness that had hung over his mind like a cloud for the last three days, though it was still there, was slightly less overwhelming, and with that revelation, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

\-----

Hearing Frederick get up, you put the book down and walked over to where he was sitting, taking a seat on the couch next to him. "How are you feeling?", was all you could come up with asking, scrutinizing his face. "Better", was the mumbled answer you received, as he looked down. Asking if he was hungry and receiving confirmation that indeed he was, you got up and got the tray. When you returned with it, his face contorted with disbelief, before looking at you. Giving him a lopsided smile you placed the tray in front of him before returning to his side, pretending not to see the tears forming in his beautiful green eyes.

An hour spent snacking and talking about everything and nothing in particular later, Frederick's eyes started to grow heavy again. After you cleared the table, he looked at you as if he wanted to ask you a question but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. It really wasn't very hard to guess what that question was, and you saw no reason to cruelly force him to word it. Instead you walked over to him, and with a neutral expression asked him to scoot over. As he did, you lay down on the couch, taking him in your arms so his face could once again rest at the crook of your neck, and half his body was sprawled over yours. A murmured "thank you" later found him once again asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write, because I kept wanting to make Chilton snarky and sarcastic, but of course he wouldn't be in this situation. In my opinion, he really would feel very broken and helpless after something like that, so that's how I wrote him, but if you disagree, I would gladly hear it in the comments. 
> 
> Also, the title of "nasty bitch" was given to the original female character by MrsChilton in the comments of the last chapter, and it was too good not to include, since I thought it was spot on


	3. Kiss from a rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Frederick realizes that you will be heading home soon, he panics, but in a good kind of way. Hint, they're gonna do the do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not really sure about this chapter. It's so ridiculously fluffy, and I've spent a long time reading it again and again, trying to make sure that Frederick stayed in character. A bit of angst may have made its way in there somewhere too
> 
> On the note of smut, this is not very steamy at all. As it's explained in the story by the thoughts of the 'reader', the sex in the end is not primarily about pleasure, so I hope you guys don't mind that
> 
> PS. I forgot to mention that in the previous chapter, there was a shout-out to the very first Chilton/reader fanfiction here on AO3, which was written by goldenrazzmatazz (I think it's the first one. If not, it's still awesome so ya know, still shout out). The sentence isn't word for word, but still recognizable if you look closely enough. Happy hunting ;) (Hint; It's in the summary of their story, but inside the actual chapter of mine)

After a lengthy nap and a lot of coaxing with cuddles from you, Frederick reluctantly admitted that his meals for the last couple of days had consisted of crackers and bread without anything on it. As a result, you were currently standing in his kitchen with all the ingredients you could find in his cupboards needed for a vegan pasta dish.

Truthfully, you didn't know if Frederick was a vegan or just a vegetarian, but to avoid bringing it up, you took the safe route. While you chopped up fennel, onions and carrots, Frederick sat at the table, pretending to read the newspaper that you had brought, looking at you every time he thought you wouldn't notice. If the pot with the pasta in it hadn't been made of blank metal which reflected the room, maybe you wouldn't have.

\-----

As the food was put in front of him, Frederick wasn't prepared for the barrage of emotions he suddenly felt. Apart from Hannibal, nobody had cooked for him in... a very long time. He still felt inadequate around you, and he didn't quite understand why you were here. Was this what friends did for each other? Were you friends? However, the weird mix of confusion, sadness and happiness was overridden by his hunger, and he started wolfing down the pasta, moaning slightly around the fork.

\-----

You watched Frederick with fond amusement as you both ate in silence; him because he was too busy stuffing his face, you because you enjoyed how content he looked. Where his eyes had been on you almost constantly before, they were now on the meal only, and you could freely observe him. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, though slightly less prominent. His hair wasn't sticking out to all sides anymore, since you had been running your hand through it countless times, trying to somewhat get it back in place. All in all, he looked better, but not healed, so to speak. If he could truly ever mentally heal from this was a matter you didn't want to think too much about; you weren't so sure that you would like the answer.

\-----

It was only after Frederick had finished his first portion and gotten his plate filled again that your conversation picked back up. You discussed Roman history with him, a subject that he seemed to have extensive knowledge about, which explained the book you had found and read a bit of; you could practically feel the ego boost he got every time you asked a question about something that he could answer. He asked about the hospital, and you answered that as far as you were concerned, nothing had changed.

\-----

It was completely dark outside when you finished helping each other with washing the dishes. He knew what was coming, of course he did; you would have to go home before it got too late for you to drive safely.

Just the thought of it made him feel sick. He had blissfully forgotten that you being here was a rare occurrence, if even that. He had, in his mind, buried the knowledge that he would soon once again be alone in this house, the darkness almost choking him, the quiet and loneliness ringing in his ears so loudly he felt like he might actually go deaf from it.

He wanted so desperately to tell you how he felt, especially about you, but of course he couldn't. _Thank you for more or less saving me from suicide and also, I am so deeply, madly in love with you that my chest hurts whenever I see you_. It would make him seem like a madman. But if he let you leave, what then? Would you ever come back to this house?

As you turned around with the apologetic look on your face that told him that he was right in his assumption that you would be heading out the door any minute now, he panicked. His mind went blank and when he came back to himself, he had his lips firmly pressed against yours. For a few seconds, you didn't respond, and his fear reached new levels. He had fucked it all up, hadn't he? Finally someone showed him a bit of kindness and now you would never want to see him again. He-

But  his train of thought was cut off as you kissed him back, letting your arms fall around his waist. The fact that you apparently wanted this too exhilarated him, and he needed you closer. Like a drowning man who has just reached a life buoy he clutched you to him, his cane clattering to the floor.

As your tongue gently began exploring his mouth, the contrast from his kiss, if you could call it that, from three nights ago was almost comical. You went about it so tenderly, as if savoring the feeling, making the occasional pleased noise that instantly became Frederick's favorite sound in the whole world. He wanted this moment to last forever.

\-----

You had been taken slightly aback when Frederick kissed you, but it was a pleasant surprise. You were standing flush against him, but he kept shifting somewhat, as if he wanted you closer still. Quickly breaking the kiss you jumped up to sit on the counter and pulled him to you so he was standing between your thighs, enjoying the sight of his slightly kiss-swollen lips before they were once again on yours. There was no way you two could physically get any closer while still wearing your clothes, and somehow this moment felt so much more intimate than any form of intercourse ever had for you; the raw display of emotions on both his face and yours made sure of that.

It didn't take long before the kiss became filled with the sort of frantic need that was usually reserved for teenage couples on TV. The noises you had made before turned into whimpers, matched in intensity and volume by Frederick's own. You could feel him hard against you, and just as you started to feel slightly lightheaded, Frederick pulled away with a facial expression that was a mix between lust and sadness. "I'm sorry", he said, breathing hard. "I can't give you what you deserve and I shouldn't have kissed you", he continued, gesturing vaguely towards his stomach as if that was explanation enough.

You knew what he meant, of course you did, and it made you angry. Not at him, but at the world. At Abel Gideon, the people in Frederick's hospital that you had overheard talk badly about him, everyone who constantly ignored him, but most of all at the anonymous woman who had been here three nights ago. If he didn't want to have sex, that was fine. But you knew that if you didn't so something now, Frederick might never take his shirt off for anyone to see him again, and that was a heartbreaking thought.

So you jumped down and stepped towards him, as carefully as if you were approaching someone who was about to jump off a cliff, your face open and easily readable. You were happy to see that though he did take a step back at first, he stood his ground when you put your hands on his stomach, above the t-shirt.

You let your fingers trail the slightly raised skin that you could feel through the cloth, which led to Frederick taking in a sharp breath, that came gushing out a good seven seconds later. He stood as if nailed to the spot, his eyes big as saucers, searching your face, probably for signs of disgust. He found none. "Please have faith in me", you murmured, continuing your gentle caresses as you gave him a light kiss just below his right ear.

\-----

What could he do? His treacherous, touch-starved body wanted this so badly. A small part of his mind wanted it too; the part that kept telling him that you were real and here, this wasn't just another daydream and that you obviously wanted him. But the majority of his mind kept replaying his last sexual encounter over and over again. She had sort of wanted him too, until she didn't. In the end, his body won, and he nodded his consent, shaking like a leaf with fear. Picking up his cane, he took your hand before making his way to the bedroom.

Once there, he was convinced that this was a terrible mistake, and his shaking had gotten so bad that he had to leave his cane by the door because he couldn't hold it. The light pressure you applied to his chest told him that you wanted him on his back and he complied, lying down on the bed, his body stiff as a board. It was all a bit dreamlike, every movement seemed to him as slow as if you were both under water.

\-----

You straddled him, putting your weight on your legs and not his body, before you gently started kissing him. First his mouth, then his jaw, back across his chin, along the bridge of his nose till you reached the point right between his eyes, where your kiss lingered a bit longer. His response, in the form of little pleased noises and hands that were now on your hips, though still shaking, fueled your belief that this was the right thing to do. You proceeded to kiss him behind his left ear, right below his hairline, and continued a trail of little pecks down to where his throat ended, before starting back up the other side, copying what you had done before.

Every minute of waiting was probably terrifying to him, you knew, so you moved down further, slowly grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, which caused him to close his eyes firmly. Lifting it up, you eyed what probably plagued him every time he looked in the mirror; a straight line that ran across his stomach and stopped just above his navel. It was in no way ugly or disgusting to you, and you couldn't comprehend why someone would react like his one-night stand had.

You realized that he was holding his breath and that he still wasn't looking at you, so you placed a warm kiss right in the middle of his abdomen, on top of the scar. The way he let out the air he had been holding in his lungs, you might as well have hit him. He stared at you as you started kissing every bit of skin you could get to; not only his scar, but all of his upper body. You removed his t-shirt completely and kissed down his arms to his hands, up each finger to the fingertips and back down on the other side.

\-----

At this point, the pillow Frederick had placed his head on was soaked with the tears that kept trickling from his eyes at a steady pace. He had never, in all of his life, felt this loved. Every touch of your lips made his heart flutter and sent a warm sensation through him. When you stopped with your hands at the waistband of his pants, looking at him for permission, he pulled you up and planted a firm kiss on your lips, caressing your face and hair and back with hands that never stayed in the same place for more than a few seconds.

\-----

After a while you pulled back and rubbed your pelvis slightly against his now very prominent erection, eliciting a moan from him. You could continue your ministrations a bit further south, but you could tell that he was already fairly close, and this wasn't just about pleasuring each other. It was about showing Frederick that he was desirable to you, in all aspects. As you lifted you eyebrows in a silent question, he gestured towards the bedside table, wherein you found a rather large amount of condoms. Any other day, you might have teased him about it; now you just picked one, before going about exposing his legs, thankful that he was wearing loose pajama pants.

Giving Frederick a few strokes and spreading the pre-cum around his shaft, you applied the condom before removing your own pants and panties, positioning yourself above him and waiting for permission. After a few deep breaths he nodded, and you lowered yourself down slowly, taking him inch for inch, of which there were quite a few.

The starting pace was slow, since you wanted this to last, as you returned to kissing him everywhere you could reach and he removed your shirt and bra, one of his hands dragging over your body while the other kneaded each of your breasts in turn. It didn't take long before Frederick started moaning and writhing slightly beneath you, indicating that he wanted you to speed up. When you didn't, he flipped you both over.

\-----

On one hand, he wanted this to last forever. On the other, he was starting to ache for release. Enjoying the surprised squeak you let out when he flipped you, he started kissing your neck, gasping as he sped up, his thrust harder but not nearly as hard as they could be. You had wrapped your legs around his waist, and the feeling of being so deeply inside of you had his member twitching.

Try as he might, he couldn't suppress the words that fought to escape his throat, and as he neared his peak, he gave up, letting them fall from his lips in a steady stream; "Oh my G-ah, you're so beautiful, absolutely otherworldly, breathtakingly beautiful, sssshhhi-, fuck I'm so close".

You came with a shout, muffling it by pulling him down into another kiss, and the feeling of you clenching around him, as well as the noises you were making, had him coming harder than he could ever remember doing before. He let his head fall next to yours with a grunt, slightly jerking his hips as his orgasm coursed through him

\-----

You held him for a long time, stroking his hair and kissing the side of his face and his shoulder. After a while he pulled out, making you both groan slightly, before removing the condom and tying it closed, unceremoniously throwing it on the floor.

Afterwards, he gathered your into his arms, holding you close and kissing your hair lightly. It was a bit of a struggle, grabbing the duvet and covering you both, since Frederick downright refused to let go of you, and by the time you finally managed to do it, he was asleep, arms still protectively wrapped around you.

\-----

After you left the next day, Frederick turned on his laptop to get through all the work he had neglected. The first thing he spotted was the folder with the sound bites, with all his employees speaking with such disdain about him. For the first time in a long time, he had no desire to listen to any of it and instead picked up his phone, texting you about a possible date on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People can't seem to agree if Chilton is a vegan or a vegetarian, so that's why the 'reader' doesn't know either. 
> 
> I honestly think that it would take a long time to make him feel at least slightly more confident about his appearances again, no matter how much attention he was lavished in, so that's what I wrote. 
> 
> This is my first multichapter fanfiction, and also my first fanfiction with a somewhat actual plot, and I can't express how grateful I am for all the feedback I've gotten, so thanks to all of you. It means a lot <3


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